


Wreckage

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background John and Sam, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: Prompt/Episode Quote:Sam: "If there's one working part, that's enough. We're not just gonna give up on ..."





	Wreckage

His shoulders ached.

_Slam._

That was the first thing he noticed.

_Slam._

He kept going.

_Slam._

He had one job, just one, but he didn’t know what it would mean.

_Slam._

Didn’t know it would suck him dry. Didn’t know it meant he would lose everything.

_Slam._

Didn’t know he’d lose his choice in anything and everything.

_Slam._

Didn’t know it meant he couldn’t fucking love anything, have anything, want anything, keep anything.

No. There was only this one, true cause. 

There was only Sam.

A memory tugged at him, or a dream, he didn’t know (hoped for a dream, feared for a memory), something buried deep, pieces of it coming only in Technicolor bits and bites, with no words or thoughts; only the brightest flashes and the deepest feeling of dread.

He saw Sam, still tiny and soft around all his edges, pudgy and sweet, smiling on a porch. He didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to see because he could already smell, and he didn’t want to know what the smell was, what it meant. Because Sam was just sitting there like nothing could be wrong and he wanted that to be the truth, that it was nothing. But he knew different, and something carried him inside anyway, til he saw something he knew his dad would never want him to see.

Til he saw the blood.

Everywhere.

And only Sam, only pudgy, little Sam, sitting and humming on that porch, and everything too bright, Sam too peaceful, and he didn’t know, he didn’t know how Sam could be that way, didn’t know if what was inside was real because it couldn’t be, didn’t even know if it was his own memory or his own dream or a nightmare he had never looked at too closely, not until Dad had said the words.

_You may have to kill him._

Passed the torch.

Given up.

That was what his Dad had done, given up and made a final choice; took all the choice from him and saddled him with everything that had ever happened since Dean was fucking four.

Leaving him with a wreck of a life, no one to even ask _what the fuck do I do with this, huh?_

The million dollar question.

 _We’ve got to talk about this, man_ , was the last thing Sam had (dared to say) said to him.

And he had picked up the fucking tire iron and Sam hadn’t come near.

He wouldn’t until his brother was good and done.


End file.
